


a palace from ruin

by brookethenerd



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22667581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookethenerd/pseuds/brookethenerd
Summary: Steve is the prince, the reader is his servant. Though there are a million reasons they shouldn’t fall for each other, the universe has different plans. But love is never easy, and the external factors might be too powerful to overcome.
Relationships: Robin Buckley/Nancy Wheeler, Steve Harrington/Reader, Steve Harrington/You
Kudos: 46





	1. bright eyes focused on the coastline

The castle sat at the far edge of the territory, the largest and grandest structure in the province, with seven solid, square towers dwarfing everything below them, connected by narrow walls of slick stone. Tall windows were scattered across the walls in an asymmetric patterns, dotted with holes for archers to poke arrows through.

Giant metal doors and a simple bridge and moat gave a stronghold between the gate and the castle’s entrance, though no one had attacked in over thirty years; the Harrington’s empire choked the bravado out of any who dared threaten them. It was a time of peace, as declared by the King himself; according to your father, though, peace was just the time in which the losers built their defenses back up. There was no peace, just a break in the bloodshed.

You were accustomed to bloodshed, having grown up on the outskirts of the province in a small village dominated by harsh weather and petty squabbles between neighboring settlements. It wasn’t the most beautiful place, characterized by old and weather-worn home and constantly low running food stores, but it was home.

Then the plague struck, smashing through the village and decimating it, taking your mother and half the settlement with it. Your family bowed beneath her absence, and the village bent toward the point of breaking.

When the King sent a messenger in search of servants for the castle, labor in exchange for rations sent to each household that gave a body, your father’s decision was made. You fought and screamed and begged and even cried, pleaded, but his mind was made up, and the next thing you knew you were climbing out of a wagon with a handful of others from various villages, staring up at the castle you’d only heard about. It’s beauty infuriated you; while your family was starving and dying of sickness, the kingdom’s royalty lived in a glittering palace.

The messenger - a servant, as he’d introduced himself - led you and the other ‘volunteers’ through the door and into a hallway lit by torches, walls made of brick with arches every five feet or so.

“You’ve all been assigned a position. Some in the kitchen, some in the fields, some in direct service to the royalty here either temporarily or permanently. You will not complain about your assignment. If you do, you will be sent right back where you came from with no compensation for your family. Understand?” He asked. A few of the others murmured a yes and he clapped his hands quickly, the noise reverberating loudly, making you flinch. “First rule. Don’t speak unless given permission.”

And so began your servitude at Castle Veteris.

♛

Your assignment, luckily, wasn’t to the kitchens or fields, but to the King’s son, the prince, which was only slightly _less_ lucky. You had zero interest in playing maid to some arrogant prince, but at least it’d keep you out of the hot and smoky kitchens.

You were brought to a room in the service wing, a long and dimly lit hallway with doors every few feet. You made a mental note of which door was yours - it would be easy to get lost in this maze - as the servant who’d led you headed back the direction they’d come. Knocking once on the door, you forced your pounding heart to quiet; this was where you lived now, and you needed to accept it.

The door opened to reveal a girl around eighteen, with light brown hair that fell just above her shoulders and dark blue eyes. Her lips quirked up in a smile and she planted a hand against the doorframe.

“You must be my new roommate,” she said. “I’m guessing no one has given you any information about anything?”

“That would be correct,” you said; you liked her already.

“Sounds about right. Well, come on in.” She stepped aside and let you into the room. It was modest, made of cobblestone and an arching ceiling, afternoon light streaming in through the window near the top. It was just wide enough for two beds sticking out from the wall but stretched a good distance back, topped off with a small fireplace below the window.

“I’m Robin,” she said, pulling the door shut behind you. “I work with Steve, too, so you and I will be spending plenty of time together.”

“Steve?” You asked. She nodded, slipping past you and dropping down onto her bed, propping herself against the cobbled wall. You set your meager bag of belongings down on the other thin mattress, perching on the edge.

“ _Prince Harrington_ ,” she said, the words dripping sarcasm. Not disdain, though; she spoke of him fondly, not the way you would have. “But you can just call him Steve. He thinks the title is foolish, so you’ll only use it around his parents. As for them, it’s your highness all the way.”

“A monarch who doesn’t flaunt his title? I’ll believe it when I see it,” you said, scoffing. Robin’s lips curled into a smirk.

“Don’t get me wrong, he can be cocky, and he’s a dingus, but he’s not all bad. I’ll deny it if you tell him, but he’s actually nice,” she said. Not convinced, you pursed your lips and shifted to make yourself more comfortable on the bed. “I know you probably don’t want to be here,” Robin continued, “God knows I didn’t. But it isn’t so bad, and it’s a hell of a lot worse for half the other servants in this castle. Your family will be fed, and you’ll be fed. It’s the best we can ask for.”

“The best would be freedom,” you said. Robin’s lips pulled thin and she tipped her head back against the wall, eyes falling shut.

“Yeah,” she said. “You’re right about that one.”

♛

In the morning, you dressed in the same simple dark pants and tunic Robin wore - _couldn’t have anyone but the royals dressing well_ , remarked Robin. After a quick breakfast in the kitchen that consisted of leaning against the large wooden tabletop and ducking out of the way for the cooks as you and Robin scarfed down pieces of bread and fruit, she led you toward the other side of the castle.

“It isn’t always this busy, but there are a few royal families visiting. The Dukes and Duchesses and all those guys spend all day in stuffy meetings, but their kids have free rein of the castle. If they tell you they were given permission for something, don’t believe them. Otherwise, they’re quite entertaining,” Robin said, leading you down the wide hallway leading to the residential wing, where Prince - _Steve’s_ \- quarters were.

As if on cue, a pack of pre-teens tumbled through a doorway, a clump of dresses and wrinkled coats, the kids giggling as they caught their balance.

“Speak of the devils,” Robin said, slowing to a stop and propping her hands on her hips. Six children righted themselves opposite you - two girls and four boys - all outfitted in regal garb, though the girls had managed to tie their skirts high enough to prevent tripping.

“Robin! You looking for Steve?” Asked a boy with a lisp and curly brown hair.

“Is he somewhere he shouldn’t be?” Robin responded.

“No, he’s probably still asleep,” supplied the redheaded girl. The dark-skinned boy to her left snickered.

“Who’s the newbie?” Asked the boy with the lisp. All attention turned to you, and your cheeks flushed. They were just kids, but they were of royal blood, and in your experience, they were cruel and cold. And yet, these kids were smiling at you and Robin as if you weren’t their lackeys, ordered to bend beneath every whim.

‘This is Y/N,” Robin said. “Stuck with Steve, like me, from now on.”

“Oooh,” booed a few of them, lips curled up in grins, their excitement contagious and bouncing between them.

“What are you guys up to? Raising hell?” Robin asked. Her casual addressing was unsettling, and though you expected one of the kids to snap at one of you, they just laughed and started spilling excuses.

“Don’t tell Steve you saw us, please? He’s still upset about the curtain incident,” said the dark-skinned boy.

“Oh, you mean when you _lit_ his curtains on _fire_?”

The curly-haired boy snapped a finger and pointed, lips quirking up in a grin to reveal gaps between his teeth.

“That’s the one,” he said. Robin scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“Get out of here,” she said, stepping forward and pushing through them, swatting them lightly as she passed. You followed her, and the kids headed in the opposite direction, chattering and giggling.

Their lives were simple, easy, full of days of laughing and worrying about nothing. You envied of them the innocence they would be lucky enough to hold onto far longer than you’d been able to.

Robin led you further down the hall, nodding curtly to the sparse guards stationed along the walls. You reached a large wooden door with two men stationed outside it.

“Still out?” Robin asked. The men at the door grinned and one leaned over to tug the door open. Robin smirked and slipped inside, you after her.

The bedroom was dimly lit, far larger than you and Robin’s room. With high archways and patterned drapes, it should have dripped luxury, but all the eccentricities had been removed. Whereas the rest of the castle that you’d seen was flamboyant and luxurious, everything in this bedroom was there out of necessity and as modest as possible.

Robin moved to the largest draped window and yanked the curtains aside, letting the bright morning light flood in. On the large four-poster bed, a covered bundle grumbled and rolled deeper into the blankets. Robin crossed the room and grabbed onto the covers, tugging them back and revealing a boy no older than eighteen in a billowy white nightshirt and white trousers. He pushed up lazily, groaning all the way, raking a hand through brown hair that stuck up in every direction.

Your stomach flipped at the sight of him; he was _beautiful_.

“Good morning, your highness,” Robin crooned, derailing your train of thought. The boy - Steve - rubbed his eyes and yawned before meeting Robin’s gaze with furrowed brows.

“Call me that again and I’m sticking you on kitchen duty,” he said half-heartedly.

“You wish you had the stones,” Robin replied pleasantly, fluttering around the room in what must have been the morning routine. You watched her intently, half trying to memorize her actions and half watching Steve.

It took him a moment to notice you, and when he did he pushed himself further up, interest piqued.

“Who are you?” He asked, only slightly accusatory.

“Meet your new minion. Y/N, this is Steve. Steve, Y/N,” Robin said.

“Your highness,” you said, on instinct. Steve’s face twisted like he’d bitten into something sour.

“That’s not necessary. Steve will do just fine,” he said. Your lips pulled thin, and you didn’t respond. Steve looked at Robin. “Talkative one.”

“You do have quite the dominating personality,” Robin said. Steve grumbled something in protest, swinging his legs over the bed. He lifted his gaze to yours again, one side of his mouth quirking up. Your traitorous stomach fluttered beneath his piercing smile.

“Welcome to the inferno,” he said. Robin snorted.

“You’re melodramatic,” she said. “And I _know_ you didn’t read Dante’s Inferno.”

Steve shrugged and flopped back against his bed, the sheets fluttering at his disturbance. You moved further into the room, but lingered on the outskirts, not wanting to disrupt Robin’s routine or pull any more of Steve’s attention.

“It does suck,” he said, “and you know it.”

“Your parents _are_ royal assholes,” Robin said, lips curling up in a grin. To your surprise, Steve laughed. He hopped out of bed and headed for his large armoire, tugging it open and sifting through the high-quality fabrics.

“Y/N, fix up the bed, will you?” Robin called. You nodded, moving to the bed and tugging at the sheets. Steve turned and crossed the room to join you, taking the other side of the blanket. You froze, meeting his gaze with a frown. He cocked a brow, daring you to question it, and you dropped your gaze again. The bed was made far quicker with his help, and as soon as it was done, he returned to the armoire and pulled out a dark blue tunic and pant set, laying them across a chair beside the wardrobe.

“We’ll see you after breakfast,” Robin said, wiping her hands on her pants and heading for the door. You joined her, both halting near the door. “Try not to piss your father off over your eggs today, will you?”

Steve smirked from across the room, unbuttoning his sleep shirt and revealing the smooth, tanned skin of his chest.

“So sweet,” he said. “I love when you look out for me.”

“Oh, buzz off, dingus,” Robin retorted. His smile widened, and his gaze slid to yours.

“It was nice to meet you,” he said. “We’ll open you up, yet.”

You folded your arms against your chest and let yourself give him a tiny smile.

“Is that a challenge?”

His eyes glinted, and his smile turned mischievous.

“Oh, I like this one, Robin,” he said. Robin snorted, tugging the door open and throwing him a grin over her shoulder before slipping back out into the hall. You followed her without looking back, and she pulled the door shut behind you.

You would never admit it, certainly not to him, but you kind of - _maybe_ \- liked that one, too.


	2. a private corner of Roma

Three weeks passed, days full of cleaning and organizing and darting around to fix the messes left by the royalty inhabiting the castle. Despite the bustle and bedlam, you’d managed to settle in surprisingly well to your new life at Castle Veteris. Breakfasts with Robin or one of the other servants in the kitchen, afternoons spent doting on or messing around - an even split - with the prince, evenings in the servants quarters, listening to the storytellers weave tales of magic and tragedy.

It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t what you’d have chosen for yourself, but it was bearable, even acceptable. While the King and Queen and their court were cold and often cruel, it was a different atmosphere in the wing Steve and the guest children resided in. Their hallways were oft well lit and bouncing with laughter and energy, the chaos contagious.

On the eighth day at the castle, Robin was up and out of bed before you’d even rolled over, standing in front of the cracked mirror as she adjusted her shirt. You sat up in bed, giving her a questioning look.

“I promised Evangeline I’d watch the Party today. Those little animals are tearing this castle apart,” she said, a hint of a smile on her lips, silent approval of the kid’s mischief. Evangeline was one of the older servants and had been in service long enough that she was essentially in charge.

The Party, aka the royal children - Will Byers, Lucas Sinclair, Dustin Henderson, Mike Wheeler, Eleven Hopper, and Max Mayfield - had been gifted their nickname ages ago by Evangeline herself. The cluster of kids brought noise and laughter and mischief everywhere they went, like a walking celebration.

“Oh, I know,” you said, swinging your feet over the edge of your bed. “I had to teach myself to sow to fix those curtains yesterday.” Robin snorted a laugh.

“Curtain swinging,” she said, shaking her head. “Little devils.”

“It’s slightly terrifying that the future of our kingdom is in their hands.”

Robin laughed, dropping onto her bed and pulling her shoes on.

“I’ll take them over the Hargroves, any day.”

“The Hargroves?”

Robin nodded and pushed to her feet. “They’re constantly jockeying for the throne. There are rumors of an alliance between the Hargroves and the Mayfields, and if it comes to pass, things will get _really_ intense around here.”

“Mayfield? As in…”

“Max,” she said. You frowned, but she waved a hand dismissively. “They’ve been cowering in their rundown castle for the last five years. If they wanted to come for us, they would have. There’s nothing to worry about. Besides, even if they did, there are perks to being invisible.”

The servants in the castle _were_ practically invisible; they moved quietly and quickly, careful not to bother or grab any attention, completing their tasks with little attention paid by the masters. It was a comfort, of sorts, to know that you weren’t a target if Veteris’ enemies descended on it.

Robin threw her hair up in a knot atop her head and headed for the door, stopping in the doorway. “You’ve got Steve, today?”

You nodded curtly. “I can handle his highness for one day,” you said. Robin shrugged.

“Call him ‘ _your highness_ ,’ and that might be a little harder.”

You shrugged, a wicked grin tugging on your lips. “It’s worth it for the look on his face.”

“Oh, that stupid pout?” Robin grins. “Fair point.” She tugged the door open, shooting you a smile over her shoulder. “If I survive the Party, I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Wishing you luck!” You called. Just before the door swung shut, she replied, “Oh, I’m gonna need it!”

♛

Steve was already awake when you reached his quarters, adjusting his tunic in front of the open wardrobe. The bed sat half made in the center of the room, and you sent him a mental thanks for the effort, even if it wasn’t followed through.

Steve made your job easier than it should be. He hated being waited on, and dressed, shaved, and cleaned himself, and most of the time, he kept his things somewhat tidy. The room was often cluttered, but not overly so, appearing more lived-in than disorganized.

“Morning,” he said, not turning from the wardrobe. Only once he was satisfied with his tunic and trousers did he push the armoire doors shut and face you, lips curling up in a smile. “No Robin?”

“She’s watching the Party,” you said. Steve’s face twisted like he’d bitten into something sour.

“That’s unfortunate for her,” he said. “I rue the day I have to clean up their messes.”

“Luckily, _your highness_ ,” his expression twisted again, to your delight. It was definitely a low blow, but oh so satisfying to take. “You’ll never have to clean a mess a day in your life.”

He averted his gaze, lips turned down in a frown. The irregularities between you - status and position and blood - seemed to bother Steve more than it did you or Robin, and he was quick to turn any conversation that pointed at the vast differences.

Taking the hint, you moved into the comfortable routine of making the bed, pulling the curtains and opening the windows, gathering up the dirty linens, etc., etc., while Steve made himself decent.

“I was going to train today,” he said once you were finished, “if you want to accompany me.”

You nodded; it wasn’t necessarily a suggestion, but even if it had been, you’d have said yes. Steve Harrington may be a bumbling moron most of the time, but when he had a weapon in his hands, his entropy changed. He became focused, deadly calm, observant, and intimidating. It was fascinating to watch.

Though he was expected to join his parents and the other visiting royalty for lunch, he skipped it nearly every day, meaning the castle halls were quiet as the two of you headed for the gardens. It wasn’t the official training room, but Steve didn’t like to train beneath the watchful gazes of whoever lingered for a show. He only did so when he wanted to spar and couldn’t convince someone into the gardens with him.

A servant had dragged out a large wooden trunk long before you arrived, and it was stuffed full of knives, swords, and the odd scimitar. You made for the chest the moment you and Steve reached the clearing in the garden - grass worn down to dirt - and tugged open the lid. Steve ducked to grab a short sword, adjusting his grip on the handle and stepping back. Rather than moving into his routine, though, he paused, lifting his gaze to meet yours.

“Do you want to learn?” He jerked a chin at the sword in his hand. At your wary expression and the flicking glance to the sharp blade, he set the sword back in the trunk and came up with two wooden blades. “Don’t worry. We’ll start with the basics.”

Though you were still hesitant, you took the practice sword, getting used to the weight of it in your hands, a little awkward. Steve stood opposite you, wielding the child’s weapon with a natural grace he only possessed when fighting.

“What do I do?”

Steve flashed a grin. “Try not to get hit. We start with defense. It doesn’t matter how well you can swing if you can’t keep a blade out of your gut.” He thrust the sword toward you, quick as lightning, the tip brushing the fabric above your belly. You inhaled sharply, gaze snapping to Steve’s. He dropped the hilt. “I would recommend blocking.”

He went again, this time slower, and you lifted your wooden piece like you would a shield. The tip of his blade easily moved around it and brushed your arm.

“You want to hit it out of the way. Swing diagonal to me. If I come at you like this-” He dropped the sword’s tip, and slowly brought it up from his right knee to your right shoulder. “Then, you’re going to block like…” He reached out to nudge your hand up, the sword moving opposite his, from your left knee to his left shoulder. “This. Try again.” He was surprisingly patient, wholly deserting the role of the snotty prince, and it was easy to forget who he was, who you were.

You mirrored the action he’d directed you in, and when he swung toward you - exaggerated and slow - his blade caught yours, bouncing off and away. A joyful laugh bubbled up and out of your mouth, and Steve gave you an inquisitive, even puzzled look.

“What?” You asked. He shook his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“I wasn’t aware you knew how to smile.”

“Bold proclamations to someone with a sword in their hand.”

He snorted, bouncing on his toes, anticipatory energy bubbling over and infecting you. You didn’t wait for him to rush you again and made the first lunge, which he quickly sidestepped. Going for another angle, you slashed downward. Steve parried with the blade, a mischievous grin playing on his lips, swinging his own weapon back around and tapping you on the back. You let out a growl of frustration and spun on your heels, dragging the wooden piece up against Steve’s, the force of it knocking his aside. It was a small victory - barely a victory at all - but you weren’t going to burst your own bubble. Neither, apparently, was Steve, who let out a _yes_! in solidarity.

Steve lunged for you, thrusting out with his sword, and you stumbled back and out of reach. Your heel caught on a hole in the dirt, and you lost your balance, tumbling back into the gravel. Steve, unable to slow his momentum, balance affected by the sword in his hand, fell with you, landing flat on top of you, propped up by his elbows.

Brown hairs flopped over a sweat-dotted brow, and the eyes that held yours in a vice grip were blown. Both your chests rose and fell quickly, though whether due to the proximity, the fight, or both, you couldn’t say.

Steve’s gaze flicked down to your mouth and back up, his lips parting. You knew what was coming before he bent toward you, and planted your hands against his chest. He stilled, a line forming between his brows.

The haze in his eyes cleared as if a switch had been flipped, and he pushed up and off of you, climbing to his feet. He held out a hand for you to take, and you let him pull you up, cheeks burning.

Steve recovered the dropped training swords and handed yours back, taking only a moment to regain his composure. You shook off the last few seconds and gripped the hilt of the sword, clenching your teeth.

“Want to go again?” Steve asked. To avoid answering - to avoid any conversation at all - you shot him a grin and lunged.

You went back and forth until you were both dripping with sweat, the afternoon sun beating down on you, limbs aching pleasantly. You’d inevitably be sore later, and would likely regret such an intense workout. Day to day chores were exponentially harder with an aching body.

And yet, flopped on your back in the grass next to Steve - not Prince Harrington, not Steven as snapped by his father, not your highness, but Steve - you couldn’t have cared less how much pain you’d be in. The blooming bruises and discomfort felt far away.

“You haven’t told me how you ended up here,” he said after a long and peaceful silence. You made a hmm noise and propped your hands beneath your head.

“The people in my village got sick. The castle’s messenger offered rations in exchange for servitude, one volunteer per family. And here I am.”

“Tell me about your village,” he said, surprising you with his curiosity. What did a prince care about a poor village a hundred miles away? But when you turned your head, his expression was sincere. You let your gaze travel back to the clouds above you, closing your eyes, and pictured home.

“The winter’s are brutal. So cold, you could wake up with blue fingers if you’re not careful. But it’s beautiful, too. The sun shines off the mountains, and it makes the snow shine. It’s like…magic,” you said. Steve didn’t interrupt you, so you took his silence as an invitation to continue.

“In the fall, during our harvest season, the entire village goes out into the fields. I used to hate it, but it became fun, over the years. Messing around in the fields with friends, and eating the ripe fruit right off the tree…” Longing unfolds in your gut, a tether stretching between you and your homeland. The people you left behind - friends and loved ones - continued on without you, would continue to move forward, constructing lives around you, until you were nothing more than the memory of someone who once lived there.

“It sounds incredible,” he said. A sad smile tugged on your lips.

“It is. It’s a hard life, way harder than it is here, but it’s…”

“Free?”

You nodded, turning your head. Steve’s gaze stayed locked on the sky above him, but his lips pursed downwards.

“I can’t imagine what that’s like,” he said, voice low and almost melancholic.

“I can’t imagine what it’s like to grow up in a place like this,” you said, gesturing to the castle grounds around you. Steve scoffed with disdain.

“It’s not as glamorous as it might be made out to be.”

It would have been easy to fight with him about it, but you were too relaxed and tired, the sun warming your aching bones, thoughts languid and fuzzy. You nudged him lightly with an elbow.

“My mother always said the grass is greener on the other side of the pasture.”

“I think she had a point,” he said, nudging you back.

♛

When you reached your and Robin’s bedroom, you found your roommate pacing the length of the room, arms crossed tightly, features twisted in anger. At your arrival, she paused but continued in her pacing with a huff.

“The Party run you that ragged?” You asked, dropping onto your bed and kicking off your shoes, pulling your sore legs up onto the mattress. Robin shook her head and sat down on her bed, gaze far away.

“A betrothal has been announced,” she said.

“Betrothal?” You frowned. “Like, marriage?”

“Clearly,” she said. “Apparently it’s been in the works for years, but they kept it hidden until now. So they don’t have time to fight it, I guess.”

“Robin. Slow down,” you said. “Who is getting married?”

She took a breath and met your gaze.

“Princess Nancy Wheeler,” she said, “and Steve.”

The floor threatened to fall out from under you, panic pushing to the surface.

“What?” You breathed.

“In two months,” she said.

“That’s not-they-”

“They can,” Robin said, “and they will. They can do whatever they want. Did you forget?” Her voice was cold and cutting; you hadn’t forgotten. You’d just gotten distracted. You’d momentarily let yourself believe Steve Harrington wasn’t just a prince, but a boy, too.

But his blood will always separate him. No matter how many days he spends laughing with you and Robin, he will always be nobility, and you will always be at his service. At all of their service.

You’d gotten too close. You’d gotten too close, and there was no possible direction for this to go but down. Steve Harrington was not just some stable boy or villager. He was a prince, would one day be a King, and there was no room in that world for someone like you.

It was better this way, you told yourself. With a looming wedding, there would be no room for your fantasies to get in the way. Any hopes of you and Steve, doused before the kindling could even spark. It was easier that way. There was nothing to lose, that way.

At least, that’s what you told yourself. The hollow, painful aching in your chest told another story.


	3. deep into the night, eyes closing, heart swollen

In two months, Castle Veteris would be home to a royal wedding. The kingdom would unite with that of the Wheelers with the matrimony of Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler. Plans were already in the making, gowns being sown and invitations being sent and servants stacked with double the duties to prepare.

You and Robin were up before the sun for the first three days after the announcement, so busy helping the others configure a plan to house all the guests you didn’t see Steve once. You heard through the grapevine that he hadn’t left his quarters once and had his already-irritated parents at the end of their ropes.

And if the King and Queen were angry, all of you felt it; the frustration landed atop your heads.

“He kicked me out, earlier,” Robin said on the fourth night, massaging out her sore legs on her bed; the day had been spent cleaning out one of the old wings, and you had layers of dust built up on your lungs from the grime. You sniffled and swung your legs over the edge of your bed, meeting her gaze.

“He can’t hide in his room and expect the wedding to go away,” you said. Robin shrugged, something indecipherable flashing across her face. She’d been quiet the past few days, taking the news of the wedding hard for a reason you didn’t know. You wondered, briefly, if she felt the same for Steve as you-

_No_. You didn’t feel _that_ way. You _couldn’t_ feel that way. And it was clear from Robin and Steve’s interactions that she didn’t feel that way; the two were more like siblings than anything. But still, Robin had been stuck under the same storm cloud as you.

“He has a chaperoned meeting with Nancy tomorrow. If he ditches that…” Robin shakes her head. “The King will kill him. Or, at least, make his life a living hell. And ours, too.”

“Have you tried yelling at him?”

Robin gave you a withering look. “ _You_ haven’t been to see him.”

You shrugged, playing casual. Robin rolled her eyes and slid across her mattress to mirror your position.

“You should go talk to him.”

“Why? What could I do?”

“Oh, don’t play daft. Everyone saw you two sparring in the gardens. All the time you spend together, and the-”

“Stop, Robin.”

Her gaze softened, and she stretched out a socked foot to tap your knee, her smile sad.

“If he’ll listen to anyone, it’s you.”

The sadness you’d been forcing down for four days clawed up your throat, tears pricking at the back of your eyes. You shoved them back, taking a shaky breath before speaking.

“How do I convince him to marry someone else, when that’s the last thing I want?” You asked. Robin’s lips pulled thin, pain flickering in her blue eyes.

“We all have a duty,” she said. “It doesn’t matter if we don’t want it. Ours is to this castle. And Steve’s is to Nancy Wheeler.” She dropped her gaze, letting out a sharp breath. “We do it because we don’t have any other choice.”

“It’s bullshit,” you said. Her brows twitched, and she inclined her head, shrugging a shoulder. She looked far older and wiser than her years, a lifetime of pain and sacrifice in her eyes.

“That doesn’t make it any less ours,” she said.

♛

The castle was quiet as you moved through its halls toward Steve’s quarters, it’s inhabitants shut up in their rooms for the night, the only activity in the guards positioned throughout the castle. The guards at Steve’s door perked up at your approach.

“He’s not exactly in the mood for visitors,” said one - a young man named Isaac. His partner, Andrew, scoffed.

“That’s putting it lightly,” he said.

“I heard.” You sighed, nodding toward the door. “He still awake?”

Isaac nodded. “Hasn’t slept in days. Barely touched his food, either,” said Andrew. You nodded, and Isaac reached out to tug the door open.

“Best of luck,” he said, giving you a nod for luck as you stepped past him and into Steve’s room, pulling the door shut behind you.

The room was in disarray, sheets strewn half on the floor, every flat surface piled with mostly untouched trays of food, curtains drawn and windows flung open. The room itself was empty, but the balcony door was open, and you caught sight of a silhouette against the night sky.

Crossing the room, you stepped out onto the balcony and into the cool night. Across the small balcony, Steve sat on the large railing, legs swinging over the edge. A goblet rested in one of his hands, tipping over carelessly, drops of wine dripping onto the railing as he glanced over his shoulder at you. His expression hardened, and his gaze returned to the dark expanse beyond the balcony.

“I’m not in the mood for a lecture, if that’s what you’re here for,” he said, not turning as he spoke. You joined him at the balcony, palms spread flat against the smooth stone. You considered telling him to get down, as alcohol and heights were never a good combination, but knew the protest would fall on deaf ears.

“Tough shit.” His head snapped in your direction, surprised by the sharpness of your tone. “You’ve been throwing a tantrum for four days. I’m here to snap you out of it.”

“I’m not throwing a _tantrum_ -”

“No? Hiding in your room, dismissing Robin and the others, hanging drunk off a balcony? Sounds like a tantrum to me.”

He frowned, rendered silence by the truth in your words. You sighed, leaning your forearms against the stone and letting your gaze skate across the moonlit gardens below; it was a beautiful place, albeit a prison.

“I can’t do it,” he said after a moment, honesty making his voice shake. “I can’t marry her.”

“You don’t like her?” It wasn’t the most important or relevant question, but you couldn’t keep from asking it.

Steve shook his head. “I was interested in her when we were younger. But she wanted someone else, so I moved on. We’re friends now. She’s a good person.”

“Then what’s the problem?” It wasn’t as if marriages between nobles were ever based in love. That wasn’t a luxury many were afforded; if they did love each other, it was love grown, borne of time and familiarity and fighting the same battles. Did Steve really expect anything different, as the only son of the King?

Steve set the wine beside him, letting out a sigh.

“I don’t _love_ her. And I’ve heard all that bullshit about how you learn to love them, I know that’s _just the way it is_ , but that’s not what I _want_.” He raked a hand through his hair, body rigid, all sharp edges and buzzing anxiety; a flame nearing the end of a wick.

_Don’t ask_ , you ordered yourself. _Don’t open that door,_ you pleaded with yourself. _Don’t cross this line_ , you thought. _Don’t_ -

“What is it that you want?” You asked. Steve’s brows knitted together, and he spun around, sliding off the stone and facing you before you even blinked. His gaze nailed you in place, and for a long moment, the only sound was the thundering pound of your heart. He lifted a hand to your face, thumb caressing your cheek before settling his fingers against it.

There are moments and words we don’t come back from. Some are so infinitesimal they seem insignificant, and some are as clear as a cloudless sky. This, though you didn’t know it at the time, was a turning point, a point of no return.

“I want you,” he said softly. “And I know I shouldn’t. I _wish_ I didn’t.” His brows furrowed, something immeasurably sad settling in his eyes. “But I do.”

“You _can’t_ ,” you breathed. “ _We_ can’t.”

He took the words as the rejection you hadn’t intended them to be, and the moment he straightened to pull away, you reached and drew him back in, fingers curled in the fabric of his billowy shirt, your knuckles brushing the light hairs on his chest.

“But I do,” you said, mirroring his words. “Can we pretend?” You asked. “Just for a minute? Can we pretend that we aren’t who we are?” It was a selfish request, and a stupid one; it would only make the hurt fiercer when it came. And it would come; you knew it would.

He dipped toward you, stilling an inch away, and you tipped your chin up to press your mouth against his. His lips were soft, and for a moment, unmoving. His eyes fell shut, lashes tickling your cheek and making your stomach twist.

He was slow, hands tracing up your arms, and the shudder that rolled through him when you leaned closer indicated how hard he was trying to keep it together. He may have opened this gate, but you’re the one who stepped through it. One minute; one minute to pretend.

It took only seconds for him to give in, gasping softly against your mouth, arms slipping around your waist so he could press you closer. His lips tasted of whatever wine he’d been swallowing his sorrows with, sweet and sour.

The mental count you’d started the moment your lips touched found its end far too soon, and it took everything in you to pull away from him. He inhaled sharply, like the loss of your mouth was painful; your own chest heaved beneath the ache.

“This is bullshit,” he said, sounding very un-prince-like; though, you supposed, kissing a servant on the balcony while he hid from his betrothed wasn’t very prince-like, either.

You wondered what Steve Harrington would have been if he’d been given a choice. If he’d have worked a patch of land with a handful of livestock, or if he’d have become a blacksmith with calloused hands, or if he’d have become a guard to the castle, ending up almost in the same place.

You wondered what you would have been, had you been given a choice. If you and Steve would have found your way to each other. Perhaps, in a world beyond yours, a time beyond yours, there was a you and a Steve that got it right. Perhaps your stories were tucked away somewhere, safe and sound. It was a nice thought; that somewhere else, things were better. Even if that place wasn’t here, it was somewhere; it existed.

In this world, this place, all you had was this: a collection of moments stolen.

“Promise me you’ll go talk to your father, tomorrow,” you said, tipping your forehead against his.

“ _No_ ,” he said indignantly. You pulled back, narrowing your eyes, and he sighed, arms slipping around your waist, ducking his head and pressing his face to the crook of your neck. It usually would have been a mirrored position, so his height made it a little awkward, but you wrapped your arms around him and ducked your chin to press your lips to the crown of his head.

“I promise,” he hummed, voice muffled.

“You know I hate this just as much as you do, right?” He pulled back to look at you, lips curling up in a sad, sympathetic smile.

“I know,” he said.

It was as if you were partners in crime, sins solidified on this balcony beneath a sea of stars, a closeness that came from sharing a secret. Considering what the secret was, the closeness was laced with sharp edges.

You tried to disentangle yourself from him - you’d already stayed too late, and even if the majority of Veteris was asleep, gossip had a life of its own in the castle - but Steve stopped you at the last moment, fingers closing around yours. You lifted your gaze to his, stomach tumbling at the boyish smile on his lips - shy and sweet.

“You don’t have to go,” he said, averting his gaze. When he brought it back to you, the tips of his ears were pink. “We can pretend, for a little longer.”

It wasn’t a good idea, but all the reasons why drifted away like leaves down a stream when he reached out to flick a fallen strand of hair out of your eyes, a lopsided grin playing on his lips.

So, you stayed and pretended for a little longer.

♛

Steve went to see his parents before meeting up with Nancy, as promised, and you went back to you and Robin’s room to change. She was awake and half-dressed when you stepped in, and the bags under her eyes were more pronounced than yesterday, like she’d gotten as little sleep as you.

“Good morning,” she said suggestively. You ignored the bait, quickly shedding yesterday’s clothing and switching into a fresh set.

“I hear _his highness_ emerged from his cave,” she said. “Must have been an excellent _talk_.”

You flinched, folding your arms across your chest and cocking a brow at her. “Is there something you’d like to say?”

She raised her hands innocently, shaking her head.

“What? Me? No.” She shrugged casually. Her expression shifted, hardened a little, and she pursed her lips. “Just…be careful. Don’t do anything you’re going to regret.”

You bristled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She threw up her hands, exasperated.

“If half the servants already know, how long do you think it will be before the King finds out? Or Nancy, or her parents? What happens then?” Her tone was grave, and it clipped the strings on your anger; you weren’t angry at her, not really.

“I’m handling it,” you said softly.

“Handle it better,” she said. “And do it fast. You and I are today’s escorts.”

♛

Nancy Wheeler wasn’t what you’d expected. In contrast to some of the other noble blooded girls running around the castle, her dresses had no intentions of flaunting, and she moved with grace instead of arrogance. With curly brown hair that just brushed her shoulders and dark blue eyes, she was beautiful, but there was wisdom in the set of her face.

She’d spent every summer at Castle Veteris since childhood, and as such, knew both Steve and Nancy well. Steve, to his credit, was perfectly behaved and seemed genuinely pleased to be catching up with an old friend.

Jealousy pooled in your gut, pointless and persisting. It grew as you and Robin trailed behind Steve and Nancy through the gardens. You kept a ‘respectful’ distance, though probably a little closer than necessary in the hopes of eavesdropping, which, unfortunately, you were unable to do.

You settled for staring at the back of their heads and stewing in your conflicting emotions. You were so focused on your own wallowing, it took twenty minutes to realize you weren’t the only one doing so.

All of them were. Steve and Nancy walked silently alongside each other, their easy conversation dying out as the reality of their situations set in. And Robin, beside you, was clenching her jaw so hard you feared she might chip a tooth.

You followed the line of her gaze to, surprisingly, Nancy Wheeler. Something about the expression reminded you of what you’d seen when you glimpsed yourself in the scratched mirror of your quarters that morning; longing and sadness and hopeless all wrapped into one.

The pieces clicked together - albeit later than they should have. Robin’s reaction to the betrothal. The fact that she’d, somehow, known about it before anyone else; like she didn’t have to wait for the grapevine to deliver the news, having gotten it straight from the top.

It seemed you and Steve weren’t the only ones sneaking around the castle. You thought of Robin’s exhaustion, and wondered if she too had spent the night somewhere else; with _someone_ else. With a princess. 

♛

“Were you planning on telling me, or just continuing to lecture me whilst doing the exact thing you’re shaming me for behind my back?” You asked the moment the door closed on you and Robin’s room. She stiffened where she stood by her bed, turning to face you.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“How long has it been going on? With Nancy?”

Her anger disappeared, and she deflated, dropping onto her bed with a huffing sigh. You moved around the edge of your bed to sit across from her.

“The last three summers,” she said, lips turned down in a frown. “We never meant for it to happen. Tried to…avoid each other. But you know how that works out.”

You couldn’t help the bitter laugh that slipped through your lips; one side of Robin’s mouth quirked up.

“I shouldn’t have given you shit about Steve. I just…I know what it’s like to love someone like that. I know how terrible it can be. I don’t want that for you.”

“It wasn’t really my intention, either,” you said. Robin snorted.

“Nor mine.”

You stood and crossed the short space between your beds, sitting beside her. You wrapped an arm around her, and she tipped her head against your shoulder, letting out a breath.

“Quite the mess we are,” you said.

“Should probably call someone to clean it up. Clearly, we’re incapable.”

“How is it we manage to keep employment?”

Robin laughed, but it was tinged with sadness. “The one perk of loving nobility, I suppose.”


	4. became his version of a kingdom

With five weeks to go until the Royal Wedding, the King and Queen, along with the Wheeler’s, left Veteris in the hopes of bargaining peace with the increasingly restless Hargrove’s. Before Steve and Nancy’s betrothal was solidified and announced, another alliance was in the works, shot down the moment the King and Duke Wheeler shook on their children’s matrimony. The promise between the two families killed one in the works between the single Duke Hargrove and Alina Mayfield, Max’s mother. Seeing as the Hargrove’s weren’t known for their anger and violence, not their tendency toward forgiveness and peace, Steve’s father felt it best to propose a meeting, in the hopes of squashing any issues before they resulted in bloodshed.

The Harrington’s and the Wheeler’s departed in a train of carriages, with the promise of a return before the end of the week. That meant at least three days free from the pointed stares of Steve’s parents, from the endless wedding preparation, from the agonizing chaperoned dates.

That meant at least three days in which Steve didn’t have to be a prince, or betrothed, or anything. Three days in which he was just Steve, and you were just you.

“How is it that you’ve lived in this castle for less than three months, and know your way around it better than me?” Steve asked, ducking to avoid smacking his head on a long-unlit-lantern. You led him through the long-deserted servants back ways, having been deserted in favor of a newer set of hallways that passed undetected through the castle, allowing servants access. This tunnel, shown to you by Robin, was abandoned years ago, and considering the spider webs strung across the ceiling, the cracking wood walls, and the stench of earth, you were inclined to believe her. You sent up a silent wish that the tunnel didn’t collapse around you; that would make for quite the awkward return for Steve’s parents.

_Oh, we apologize, your highnesses, but the prince perished. He smacked his head into a lantern while sneaking out. Oh, please, don’t cut off my head._

“I’m invisible, remember?” You said, flashing a grin at him over your shoulder. The lantern in your hand gave off just enough light to make out Steve’s dark figure behind you, but the tunnel beyond was pitch black. “You’re a prince. You’re not supposed to know about this.”

“Evangeline will kill you if she finds out you brought me here.”

“I’m already on Evangeline’s shit list,” you said. “I doubt sneaking around with the prince has the power to make her dislike me even more.”

“You fucked up the linens, didn’t you?”

“One time!” Steve laughed, having grown up with the servant Evangeline, likely rifling through his own memories of Evangeline lectures; they were quite impactful, despite her small stature. “I fucked it up one time, and now she thinks I’m hopeless!”

“One time is all it takes for the General,” he said. Though none of you would dare call her it to her face, the General was the nickname given by Robin. You snickered and held your lantern out in front of you, lips quirking up in a grin at the sight of the old, cracking wooden door that should lead outside the castle grounds.

You gave the door a shove, and it swung open with a whine, opening to the back of the castle, just past the gate. Stepping out into the sun, you tipped your head back and close your eyes, taking the first breath of freedom you’d had in months.

Arms wound around you from behind, and Steve rested his chin on your shoulder. You craned your head to see the hint of a smile on his lips, his gaze scanning the woods beyond the castle. You wondered when the last time he’d seen the view from this side of the gate was.

“If you’ve dragged me out here to kill me…” he murmured. You snorted, pulling away and turning to face him with a cocked brow.

“I could have killed you just as easily inside. Slipped something into your wine, or screwed with your food…”

“You’re quite devious.”

“Thank you,” you said, flashing him a grin. You took his hand, threading your fingers together, reveling in the ability to do so so carelessly, like it’s nothing. He looked down at your twined fingers, his own expression awe-struck. When he lifted his gaze to yours, the excitement in his eyes reminded you of that of a child after being freed from chores, bursting with built-up energy. Steve, it appeared, had been waiting a long time to let it out.

“So,” he said, “Where exactly is it you’re taking me?”

You pulled your hand from his and headed for the trees, mental rifling through the directions Robin had given.

“A surprise,” you said. “You coming?”

Steve grinned and jogged to catch up with you.

“Absolutely.”

♛

The ‘little watering hole’ Robin had sent you and Steve to was not, in fact, little, or even deserving of the name watering hole. It was a waterfall, massive and magnificent, tucked far off the path in the forest surrounding Castle Veteris. The quiet stillness of the trees around you grew into the roar of falling water, and you and Steve stepped out into a clearing to find a tall waterfall cascading into a small, crystal blue pond.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Steve said softly. 

The white water cascaded down a series of rock outcrops, bordering its edges with a million little waterfalls, the cacophonous noise reminding you of the Party’s chattering. Mist dusted across you, droplets catching your hair and lingering like sparkles.

“Not bad, eh?” You asked, moving to the edge of the water, letting it lap at your feet. Kicking off your shoes, you dug your toes into the rocky sand of the beach, the cool water dipping between your toes.

Steve moved to join you, his own shoes deserted by yours.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” he breathed, in awe of the scene in front of him.

“Me neither,” you said. “I was expecting a pond, but this…”

Steve caught your gaze, lips quirking up in a mischievous grin. He tugged his shirt off, letting it fall to the dirt, and shrugged out of his trousers, until all that remained was a pair of shorts that didn’t leave near enough to the imagination. Your breath hitched, and you averted your gaze, pretending to be interested in the bubbling water at your feet.

Steve had climbed up and around to one of the outcroppings, flashing a wicked grin before taking a few steps back.

“Steve, don’t you da-”

He took a running leap off the rock, landing in the pond with a massive splash that sent water flying everywhere, soaking half your clothes. He surfaced, spewing water, lips pulled in a wide grin as he trod.

“ _Tosser_ ,” you called. His features twisted, and you made your way over to the rock he’d jumped off of, kneeling down in front of where he swam.

“Scared to get a little wet?” He asked, waggling his brows. You scoffed.

“You’re the prince,” you said. “And, as I recall, the one who bitched when he got a drop of jelly on his shirt.”

“I’m not a prince right now,” he said, wading to the edge and gripping the ledge, pulling himself eye level with you. His grin was wicked and playful, making your stomach flop.

“And what are you?” You asked. He held a hand out, a silent request for help, and you rolled your eyes, taking his hand. Just before you pulled, his grin widened, and before you had time to react, he said, “I’m the one pulling you into this pond,” and _yanked_.

You lost your balance, tumbling over the edge of the rock and into the water with a yelp. You came up spewing water, features contorted in anger. You brushed the wet hairs out of your eyes, scanning the water for Steve, who popped up from underwater a foot away from you.

“My clothes are sopping wet,” you protested. Steve grinned.

“Should have taken them off.”

“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

“ _Obviously_ ,” he said, quirking a brow. He shifted, letting himself float on the surface, eyes closed, fingers fluttering against the surface. You cupped your hands, upending the water in your hands onto his face. He spluttered, dipping beneath the surface, and when his head popped back out, he looked positively devious.

“Shouldn’t have done that,” he said, teasing, and lunged. You shrieked and tried to swim away, but didn’t make it out of arms reach, being pulled right back to Steve. He wound his arms around your waist, half holding you up, grinning like mad.

“How gentlemanly of you,” you said. His grin widened, and he ducked to press his lips to yours, both your mouths slick with water. Your hands slid up his arms to tangle in his wet hair, knotting the wet strands around your fingers.

“You haven’t seen gentlemanly yet,” he murmured against your mouth. You laughed and pulled him closer.

“Good thing we have time, then.”

♛

You laid curled against Steve on one of the rock outcroppings, mist showering you in light rain, the pounding of the waterfall overpowering the noise of the forest, making the falls feel like the only place in the universe.

“I wish we could just stay here,” Steve said, fingers carding through your hair, “Forget about the palace and my parents and the wedding…”

“And live happily ever after here with wrinkled fingers and toes until we die,” you said, craning your head to smile at him.

“Clearly, we’d have to do some mending. A few walls, maybe a roof…”

“I want a big, big bed. Bigger than yours. Bigger than the King and Queens.”

“That can be arranged,” Steve said.

“And a pantry stocked full of food. I don’t ever want to have to hunt or scrounge.”

“I can hunt if we need,” Steve said, playing along. “You can spend your days lounging in our massive bed.”

“You’re welcome to join,” you said, “but only after the chores have been done.”

“And I’m doing the chores?”

You grinned, slinging an arm across his waist and shifting, nose brushing his chin. “I think it’s your turn.”

“Fair enough.”

He ducked his chin to press a kiss to your forehead, the tenderness of the gesture making your stomach tumble.

“You don’t want to be a king, do you?” You asked. You doubted anyone had ever asked him.

He let out a soft breath, head lolling and gaze moving to the clear sky above you, the fingers on one hand tracing absently up and down your arm

“What gave it away?” He asked, half-joking, in the way that indicated he’d let you perceive it whichever way you preferred, even if it meant forgoing the real conversation. Appeasement and adaptation; he may not want to be royalty, but he pulled it off well.

“Why? You have servants to fulfill your every whim. Your plate is always full, your cup never empty, your table never quiet. You live in a palace. You’ll never want for anything,” you said.

He frowned. “That,” he said, “is not true.” His gaze burned into your skin, the _wanting_ so close to tangible you thought you might feel it if you stretched a hand out. “No matter how much I have, it won’t ever be what _I_ want. What _I_ choose. It will always be what they chose _for_ me.”

“But you’ll be safe. Healthy. Alive.”

He closed his eyes, appearing far older than his eighteen years, wisdom and exhaustion etched into his features.

“Survival and living,” he said, “are two different things.”

You rolled onto your stomach, the sun-warmed rock hot against your skin, and folded your arms across his chest, resting your chin on them. He opened his eyes, eyes on the sky.

“Did you ever want this?” You asked. “To be a prince? To be the King?”

He pursed his lips. “I did when I was younger. I thought I wanted the…prestige, and the reputation, and the…the position. But the second I started looking around, really looking at the people around me, I realized that all of it is just…bullshit, you know? The things they tell you you’re supposed to care about…I don’t know.” He paused, gaze flicking to yours. “I guess I wanted to see what it was like to choose something-” One of his hands moved to your neck, thumb on your jaw, lips curled in the saddest smile you’d ever seen. “- _someone_ , for myself.”

“And now that you have?” You asked. The smile inched a little further toward happiness, though not all the way; it couldn’t, not with the circumstances ever-blocking the path.

“You’re a million times better than I could have ever imagined,” he said. You smiled, stretching forward to press your lips to his.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you said.

You stayed beneath that waterfall until the sun began its descent. Only when darkness bled into the trees did you pull your overclothes back on and trudge back to the castle, away from the afternoon that stood still in time; forever yours, regardless of where your paths led.

♛

You were shaken awake only minutes after drifting off, exhausted from the day, and reveling in the lumpy comfort of your bed. You pushed up with a grumble of protest, about to lay into Robin for interrupting your rest when you realized Robin was in her own bed, also being rudely awakened by a silhouette.

“What the fuck-” A hand closed over your mouth, and you didn’t think before biting down on the fingers, earning a yelp of pain from your attacker.

Who, now that your eyes were adjusting to the darkness, was not actually an attacker at all, but Steve Harrington, dressed in servant garb. Across the room, Nancy - dressed similarly - was pulling a sleepy Robin to her feet.

“Did you seriously just bite me?” Steve accused, wrenching his hand away from your mouth.

“Did you seriously break into my quarters and expect that not to freak me out?”

“We were trying to be nonchalant.”

“We could smell you a mile away,” Robin grumbled, leaning into Nancy, who rolled her eyes and hoisted the girl up, forcing her to carry her own weight. Robin frowned, but did so rubbing her eyes as she dragged herself back to consciousness.

“What are you doing in here? How did you get past your guards?”

Nancy and Steve exchanged a grin, and Nancy said, “Your boy here taught me to scale the castle walls when we were twelve. The only way past the guards is out the windows, so…”

You shook your head, giving them an incredulous look.

“You both…I don’t…so _stupid_ -”

“We come bearing gifts,” Steve said. On cue, Nancy lifted a full decanter from beneath her skirts, waggling her brows. “There’s an abandoned wing of the castle and a bottle of spirits calling our names.”

“You’re not serious,” you said. Steve grinned.

“My parents are gone. Besides, if we are caught, what will they do? I’m the prince,” he said.

“And, if they did get all bothersome about it, technically, we’re chaperoned,” Nancy said. You frowned. The logic wasn’t flawless, but the promise of alcohol and general frivolity were tempting.

You’d been responsible for months; you wanted to be an irresponsible teenager for a night.

“I’m not going down for this if we get in trouble,” you said.

“Ditto,” Robin seconded.

“We’ll take all the blame,” Steve said.

“Steve will take all the blame,” Nancy corrected with a smile.

♛

The abandoned wing of Castle Veteris wasn’t really a wing, but a glorified hallway, with only four rusting, cracking doors. Nancy and Steve led you and Robin effortlessly through the winding hallways, the sporadic guards and lit-lanterns dissipating as you moved toward the empty section. The walls were crumbling, flakes of concrete dusting the floor, and dust particles hung in the moonlight streaming through ash-coated windows.

Nancy and Steve led you and Robin into the farthest room back in the dim hall, pushing through a cracking wooden door to what appeared to be an old sitting room, with couches and love-seats spread around the room, all the surfaces dust-covered but in decent shape.

Nancy drew back the curtains, letting the moonlight spill into the room as Steve went to work smacking the dust out of two couches positioned across from each other.

It was a little off-putting to stand beside Robin as the two nobles prepared the room, seeing as cleaning was your job, but neither royal complained or so much as frowned as they moved about.

Nancy flopped down onto one of the couches first, letting out a big sigh, seeming to shed the persona of princess the moment she hit the cushions. The rigid posture and tight-lipped expression she usually adorned was gone, replaced by an easy smile as Robin dropped onto the couch beside her, holding an arm out for Nancy. Nancy slid into her side, and the two fit together easily.

You and Steve took the other couch, Steve sitting facing Robin and Nancy, you with your feet in Steve’s lap, half draped across him.

In another world, another lifetime, another reality, the set up might have been typical. In another world, perhaps there were versions of you that didn’t hide, didn’t slink, didn’t have to hold their tongues. Perhaps, all of the obstacles standing in your path in this world were gone.

Nancy uncapped the decanter first, taking a long drag, crinkling her nose and exhaling sharply when she finished, passing the glass to Robin without looking at it. Robin, the hint of a grin on her lips, took a sip, and passed it to Steve, who drank and passed it to you. The bottle went around the circle until only a few inches of liquid remained in the bottom, and your entire body was fuzzy and light.

“This is our yearly tradition,” Nancy explained. “Ever since Steve found this old wing, we’ve been coming to drink Steve’s parent’s wine and forget all our responsibilities.”

“Thank god, I don’t have to be your third wheel anymore,” Steve said to Nancy and Robin, who grinned. Robin ducked to press a kiss to Nancy’s cheek, and the other girl smiled and blushed, gaze flicking to Robin, affection bleeding from her eyes.

“So long as we don’t have to listen to you complain anymore, I’m happy,” Robin said. She looked to you, lips quirking up. “I know it’s hard to believe, but he was actually more annoying before you.”

“Is that even possible?” You asked. Steve grumbled in protest, arm slipping around your waist, ducking to press his face to your neck.

The ease with which you could touch was almost intoxicating; you spent each day in the castle pretending not to care, sneaking touches and kisses behind closed doors. But here, now, there was no consequence for affection, no rules or watchful gazes or reputations to maintain. Here, now, you were just four kids, desperately in love with people you couldn’t have. But at least, right now, you didn’t have to pretend. 

“I wish we could stay here forever,” Nancy said, leaning her head against Robin’s shoulder, sadness flickering in her eyes.

“Drunk on wine, lazing on dusty couches?” Robin asked. Nancy swatted her lightly, earning a smile from Robin.

“ _Together_ ,” she said. “The way we want to be.”

“We could always run,” you said. “Take off into the sunset, and fuck all of this.”

“Where would we go?” Nancy asked.

It was clearly a game, obviously a lie, but there was comfort in pretending, in planning a happy ending you never got to have. And in that moonlit room, the four of you were more than content to play along as long as you could.

“There are villages all over the territory,” you said. “We pick one where no one knows you. Blend in.”

“We can raise goats, and horses,” Nancy said.

“I’m planting crops,” Robin said. “We’ll have so much food we’ll all get fat.”

“Not a guard or a crown in sight,” Steve said, almost dreamily.

It was an odd fantasy, to want such a simple life when such an elegant one awaited them. But, you supposed, it doesn’t matter what side of the fence you’re on. The grass is always, always greener.

“You’ll have to clean your own clothing, you know,” you said, poking Steve in the side. “Wash it, hang it to dry, all of it.”

“You act as if I’m completely incapable.”

You cocked a brow, and Nancy and Robin smothered their giggles.

“Only slightly incapable,” you said. He rolled his eyes and took another swig of the wine, and when he bent toward you for a quick kiss, he tasted of sour grapes.

The conversation rose and fell as you finished off the bottle, all four of you pushing past tipsy and well into drunk. The moon was high in the sky the next time someone spoke.

“I know it sounds absolutely horrendous of me,” Nancy said, “so I hope you won’t take offense, Steve, but…I _really_ don’t want to marry you.” Her words were a little slurred, but her expression was hauntingly sober.

Steve laughed, but it was bitter.

“No offense, Nancy, but I really don’t want to marry you, either.”

Robin nuzzled up against Nancy, squeezing her eyes shut against the reality.

“I just wish…,” Nancy said, trailing off, tipping her head against Robin’s with a sigh.

“I know,” Steve said. “I do, too.”

It didn’t really matter how much you wished, though. It didn’t matter what any of you wanted, what any of you would have chosen. Your destinies were laid out on a platter long before you’d even known you were coming to dinner. It was a reality so set in stone that to fight it would only end in blood. To fight it would only end in more pain than you were already destined for.

So, you moved off the topic of your future and your reality, the four of you pretending for a little while longer that you weren’t doomed to lives in a palace from ruin.


	5. for the wolves we fought

Steve’s mother, Queen Adelita Harrington, returned sans the King, accompanying the women back to Castle Veteris, the men remaining at the Hargrove’s castle for further negotiation. Despite never being told the specifics, the servants’ unlimited access to the castle made for the quick and accurate spread of gossip. According to Evangeline, things were not going well if they were sending the women home.

The morning after Adelita’s return, you were summoned by her hand-maid, led through the halls to a room you’d never been allowed entrance before. The guards at the door pushed it open, and you stepped into some kind of sitting room. It screamed wealth, with intricately patterned curtains, each surface covered in golden goblets or silver figurines. The queen sat in an armchair, across from a crackling fireplace. 

She glanced over her shoulder at your entrance, gaze shifting immediately to her lady - a middle-aged woman named Marta. “That’ll be all, Marta.” Marta bowed quickly and curtly, not daring a glance in your direction as she pushed past you and out into the hall, leaving you alone with Adelita.

“Come,” Adelita said, voice smooth, like a cat’s purr. Still, the kindness in her tone was a disguise for disdain; you’d been at Veteris long enough to read through the lines. “Sit.”

It wasn’t an invitation, despite the calm and even tone, and you crossed the large room to drop down into the armchair across from the Queen. Back rod straight, hands folded in your lap, gaze on your shoes; a willing servant, as you’d been taught.

“In four weeks,” she said, the force in her tone drawing your gaze to her face. You weren’t meant to look at or address her unless asked, but she didn’t scold you for it. “My son is to be married. With his union, the safety of the entire kingdom will be solidified.”

You bit your tongue, refusing to let any emotion flicker across your face, lips pulled in a thin line. Adelita was beautiful and elegant, but she was a wolf in a sheep’s coat; you knew she was just as dangerous - if not more - than the King. She was cold and cruel and concerned only with reputation maintenance.

“Imagine my surprise when I am told that the prince has been courting, but not the princess. Not his bride-to-be.” She stood, moving to the fireplace, head tilting back ever so slightly to look at a large painting above the fireplace; the King, Queen, and a younger Steve. In the painting, he looked nothing like the boy from the balcony who swallowed so much sadness his words slurred, nothing like the boy who cannonballed off the rock into the waterfall, nothing like the boy who kissed you gently and smiled at you like you were the only person in the world that mattered.

The Steve in the painting was cold, reserved, eyes hollow and empty. In a few weeks, that Steve might seize the one you knew - the one you loved - and carve him into hard edges and icy cruelty.

Your stomach clawed its way up your throat, and you shoved the nausea down, resisting the urge to bolt out of the room by tucking your hands beneath your thighs.

_She doesn’t know. She can’t know. There’s no possible way-_

“My son, courting a _servant_ ,” she said, words dripping with disdain. If you weren’t used to such behavior from the nobles, it would have stung more than it did. As such, it was merely irritating, a little shocking.

Either Adelita had a talent for reading faces, or you did a shitty job hiding your surprise, but her lips curled up in a smile that made your stomach twist, something old and ancient telling you to _run_. Adelita looked less like a beautiful, regal Queen, and more like a prowling panther.

“You thought I knew not what happened in my castle?” She asked, turning to face you. “ _My_ castle. One day, soon, it will be _my son’s_ castle. There is no room in those plans for _you_.” The last word dripped with scorn, and it took everything in you not to slap her across the face.

You swallowed the fear threatening to choke you and stood, taking away the height advantage and holding her gaze, lifting your chin.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said. Adelita laughed, as if delighted by your answer, and cocked a brow.

“Oh? Then, who is it that is seen entering my son’s room each night, and exiting each morning? Who is it that took him from the safety of this castle for a foolish venture into the woods?”

Your lips parted, protests dying on your tongue, but Adelita didn’t leave room for anyone’s voice but hers, continuing. She stepped toward you, eyes narrowed, jaw set.

“I will not have a _servant_ damaging the years we have spent on this alliance,” she said. “I will not have a servant _ruining_ my son. Taking advantage of him. _Corrupting_ him.”

Her words pricked like needles, and it took all your strength not to crumble into tears, right there, on her intricate handwoven rug. You forced yourself to hold her gaze, forced your frantic heart to calm.

“I’ve done nothing of the sort,” you said, though it was clear the battle was lost.

She knew. Of course, she knew. Had you really expected no one to find out? Expected to sneak around with the prince without being noticed?

It was always destined to burn; you just didn’t realize how quickly.

“Do not play games me,” she said, the threat dripping from her words. “You will stanch whatever it is you are doing with my son.”

“I’m doing _nothing_.”

She ignored you, and continued. “You see, dalliances are of no concern to me. I care little for the affairs of the flesh. I care not who my son wastes his time with.” Her gaze darted to yours, eyes narrowing; it was only in that moment you saw through her mask, saw the fear building inside her, fear directed at you; you, who had far more power than she wanted to admit. “It is matters of the heart that I must attend to.”

You frowned, but didn’t need to ask for clarification; Adelita loved to hear herself speak. Her expression softened ever so slightly, but whatever anger went away was replaced with disdain.

“For reasons unbeknownst to me, my son is…” she curled her lip. “ _Smitten_ with you.”

It was hardly the time, but the words made your stomach twist; he’s _smitten with you_.

“If his focus is on the servant who empties his toilet bucket, how is he expected to rule a kingdom?”

You didn’t respond; no answer you could give would satisfy you both.

That was the thing, the very worst thing: you knew all this. Everything she said, every venomous word she fired, you already knew. You knew the truth, knew you’d been living on borrowed time. You just had expected to have _more_.

“You will stop whatever this is, and you will stop it now,” Adelita said.

It was only the leftover dregs of teenage rebellion, embers still burning deep in your chest, that allowed you to speak; the rest was paralyzed.

“Or what?” You asked.

Her surprise was obvious, but she quickly smoothed her expression, lips quirking up into that malicious grin.

“Or Robin Buckley will lose her head in the square.” The words, said so casually, were like a knife slicing right through your chest, and the fear that exploded past it nearly made you double over. Your knees buckled, and Adelita moved to take your arms, gripping them tightly and holding you up. This close, you could smell the sweet perfume she wore, thick as a noose. You forced your breathing to remain even, forced yourself to hold her gaze.

“You can’t,” you breathed.

“I can,” she said; and she could. She could do whatever the hell she wanted.

Adelita Harrington was the Queen, and her word was law. You were a servant, and your word…your word didn’t matter.

♛

You managed to avoid Steve for most of the day, but had no choice but to face him when Evangeline ordered you to bring a fresh set of linens to his room and change out his sheets. Grumbling, you brought the bundle to his door, stopping outside of it, clutching the linens tight against your chest.

The moment you crossed that threshold, this beautiful, intricate, fragile thing you’d been clinging to would fall to pieces. The bubble would pop. 

Steve’s guards, Isaac and Andrew, exchanged glances.

“Heard Adelita brought you in for a one-on-one,” Andrew said.

“Seeing as you’re still standing, it can’t have been that bad,” Isaac added. You gave him a withering look, to which he grinned.

“I’m not in the mood for you to be an ass,” you snapped. 

“Is anyone ever?” Andrew mused. Isaac stepped to where Andrew stood at the other side of the door and socked him in the arm, returning to his post as if nothing happened. Andrew shot him a venomous look.

“Prince has been asking for you,” Isaac said. His expression softened. “We can cover, if you want. You don’t have to go in there.”

You gave him a thankful smile, but shook your head. “I do.”

Isaac’s lips pulled thin, and Andrew frowned, leaning over to open the door.

“Good luck, kid,” Andrew said softly as you passed.

You needed more than luck; you needed a solution, an answer, a miracle. You weren’t likely to get any of those things.

Steve wasn’t in his room, but the balcony doors were open, and you crossed the room, stepping through the doorway and into the cool night air. Steve leaned against the ledge, and the image was so similar to the night he’d said _I want you, just you_ that the knot in your gut twisted tighter.

He turned at your arrival, lips curling up in a goofy grin. “Where have you been all day?” He closed the distance between you, reaching for you, but the step you took back stilled him in place, hands in the air. He let them fall, confusion dotting his features.

“I have duties beyond you, you know,” you said. His brows furrowed, and realization dawned in his eyes. He straightened, sucking in a sharp breath.

“My mother,” he said. “You talked to my mother.”

You closed your expression off, crossing your arms and forming a barrier between you.

“This isn’t about your mother. This is about the game we’ve been playing.”

Hurt flickered in his eyes, but he was quick to hide it; he was almost as good at hiding his emotions as you were, these days. “The game?”

“We’ve been playing pretend,” you said. You turned to the ledge, pressing your forearms against the cool concrete, letting out a breath. “But we aren’t kids. We can’t afford to play anymore.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “What did she say to you? What did she say?”

You shook off the thorns in your lungs, forcing the words out, sticky and thick on your tongue. “I’m sorry, Steve. But we can’t do this anymore.”

“Why are you doing this?” The pain in his voice made you turn around, leaning back against the concrete; bad idea. His form was rigid, frustration and pain and sadness and desperation woven into his expression. He was a tautly pulled bowstring, moments from snapping or letting his arrow fly; but it was your turn to pull a trigger.

You let out a shaky breath, the ache in your chest pressing harder, dropping like a stone in your gut.

“It hurts to be with you, you know? I can forget sometimes, on days like the one at the waterfall, when we don’t have to be Prince Harrington and his staff. But that’s what we _are_. That’s what we always come back to what. What we’ll always come back to. You’re getting married, and I know that doesn’t mean you’re in love with Nancy Wheeler, but there are expectations. Things that she gets to have with you that I…” You folded your arms across your chest, forcing yourself to keep looking at him. “I will never get. And that’s no more your fault than it is mine. I know we didn’t choose this life. But it’s ours.”

He closed the distance between you in slow, careful steps, bringing his hands up to settle on your cheeks, thumbs tracing soft lines back and forth along your cheekbones.

“There’s still time,” he said. “And even after, we can-”

“That’s not a life, Steve,” you snapped. He pulled back, brows furrowing, but his hands didn’t leave your skin; you dreaded the moment they truly did. You dragged the lie out from deep inside you and steeled yourself. “At least, not one I want.”

He shook his head, no closer to believing you than he’d been when you started. Desperation swelled inside you; if you didn’t do this, Robin died. And as much as it felt like sticking a knife into your gut and twisting, you could shoulder the pain, so long as none of it touched Robin.

“You’re lying,” he said.

“I’m not.” You were.

“You told me,” he said, moisture glazing his eyes, “you wanted this.”

“I lied,” you said, and the words tasted like ash and tar, felt like a thundering stampede against your chest, twisted like a blade in your gut. But they had to be said; the only way to push him away was to _shove_. You had to break the bridge beyond repair; you had to burn it so badly there wasn’t a chance of crossing again. “I just…wanted to see if I could do it.” You pushed the words through gritted teeth, unable to watch them hit him, averting your gaze. “Seduce a noble.”

Steve stiffened, staggering back a step, disbelief and anger warring on his face. “That’s not true,” he said. “It’s not _true_.”

Nausea churned in your gut, and you couldn’t really feel your legs anymore, but you forced yourself to continue; to finish; to get this over with, and run far, far away.

“I told you from the beginning,” you said, lifting your gaze to his, the pain on his face like another punch to the gut. “It was all pretend.”

At once, the anger leaked out of him, a wall slamming up between you, his expression indecipherable, form rigid; he wasn’t Steve, right now. He was Prince Harrington.

“Well,” he said after a long pause, clearly struggling to keep his tone even; you were struggling to stay standing. “I suppose that means there’s nothing left for you here.” He met your gaze, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “That’ll be all,” he said, voice pure ice, “You’re _dismissed_.”

You startled back like you’d been hit at the dominating, hard tone; you’d never had it directed at you before.

But you couldn’t be angry, couldn’t be upset, because you did this. You did this to save Robin. To save Steve. To save yourself.

It was never going to work out. You’d always known that. You just hadn’t expected it to hurt so much.

“Yes, _your highness_ ,” you said, and took your leave. You didn’t look back, and Steve didn’t call after you.

♛

When you made it back to you and Robin’s quarters, she wasn’t alone. Nancy and Robin sat propped together on Robin’s bed, laughing when you pushed inside. Both their heads swiveled your way, lips curled up in smiles that died as soon as they saw the look on your face: the red-rimmed eyes, the clenched teeth, the grim expression.

Both girls were on their feet and at your side in an instant, Nancy’s hands gentle on your arms.

“What is it?” Robin asked.

“Did something happen?” Nancy asked.

You moved from between them to drop down onto your bed, and the pair sat down on the edge of Robin’s facing you. You folded your hands and brought them to your lips, trapping warm breath in your cupped fingers.

“What’s going on?” Robin asked. You met her gaze, a traitorous tear slipping down your cheek.

“I talked,” you said, “to the queen.”

Robin stiffened, and Nancy’s brows drew together.

“As in, Steve’s mother, the Queen? As in Adelita, the arsehole?” Robin asked. Nancy swatted her.

“She’ll have your head if she hears you call her that.”

“Because she pays enough attention to her servants to hear,” Robin said, rolling her eyes.

“She told me that if I didn’t end things with Steve…”

“She’d what?” Robin pressed. You let out a shaky breath.

“She’d kill you.”

Nancy’s arm wrapped around Robin instinctively, pain and fear flashing on her face.

“ _No_ ,” she said. “She…” Nancy stopped herself; Adelita could do that. She could do whatever she wanted.

“She said if I didn’t end things with Steve, if I didn’t stop getting in the way, you’d pay for it.”

“What did you do?” Robin asked.

“What do you think?”

Her shoulders sank. “Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

More tears fell, but you brushed them away angrily. “S’okay,” you said. “We were damned from the beginning. It’s my fault for pretending otherwise.”

“Y/N-” Nancy said. You pushed to your feet, suddenly unable to stay in that room any longer, trapped by walls and Nancy and Robin’s closeness and the pounding of your heart.

“I need some air,” you said.

“Wait-” Robin said. You stopped in the doorway, turning to face them. “Where are you going?”

“Anywhere but here,” you said, and tugged the door open, slipping out into the dim hall and pulling the door shut behind you.

You slipped through the torch-lit halls, silent save for the sporadically posted guard, all of whom let you pass without a word; their concerns laid with their charges, the royalty asleep in their rooms. Not someone like you.

You had no destination in mind, but found yourself in the back gardens, surrounded by tall and perfectly trimmed hedges. The stars twinkled above you, a billion souls of past, watching the world carry on below. You wondered what their take on this whole mess was; they had the advantage of hindsight, being the dead, and all.

You settled among the dirt in the training pit you’d spent so many weeks in with Steve, learning to wield a sword. You weren’t half bad. But those lessons would be coming to an end, as everything else was.

It was never meant to last, never meant to stretch beyond these precious months. You’d already gotten far more time than you should have, and you were grateful for it, but all that time only made the letting go harder; only made it harder to peel off, like glue dried to your skin.

Steve Harrington had a destiny, and as much as you wished to be a part of it, you were dealt different cards. All you could do was play the hand you were given.

Even if it was this one.


	6. or how the wind would howl

The soldiers came at night, slipping through the darkness and taking out the patrolling guards without making a noise. They took the archers off their posts next, throwing grappling hooks up and over, climbing up the walls like spiders.

By the time they breached the castle’s interior, only a handful of the King’s guards had taken notice, and they infiltrated the grounds with little opposition. 

You woke sometime later to chaos in the halls, pushing off your bed and shaking off the sleep clinging to you. Robin, rousing slower in her bed beside you, grumbled in protest.

“People are trying to sleep here,” Robin complained, sliding off the bed and jamming her feet into her shoes. You did the same, unsure what was going on, but dressing for anything. You made for the door, tugging it open and leaning out into the hall.

Half the torches were doused, and a guard whose name you’d never learned lay sprawled in a pool of his own blood halfway down the hall. You sucked in a breath, lurching back into your and Robin’s room and dragging the door shut, slamming the locks into place. Fear clawed its way up your throat, and you forced your feet to remain steady as you turned to face Robin. Even without seeing into the hall, her hesitation at your reaction was written across her face.

“What is it?” She asked, voice low, like she didn’t necessarily want to hear the answer.

The words tasted like ash and blood when you finally managed to spit them out.

“Someone is taking the castle,” you said. Robin blanched and shook her head.

“But the men…half our guards….” she trailed off, voice hauntingly clear when she spoke again. “Half our fighting force is a day’s ride away.”

“Who’s doing this? Who would…” you stopped, answering the question for yourself. “The Hargrove’s. No one else would know we were unprotected.”

Robin cursed, smacking the frame of her bed and making it shake. “That’s why they sent the women home. To trap us all in this fucking castle with half our guard.”

The same thought revealed itself to you, and both your heads snapped up, identical fear filling your expressions.

“Steve. Nancy. The kids.” Robin raked a hand through her hair, mussing up the bed head even further.

Fear coiled tighter in your gut, and you shoved down the bile crawling up your throat; you had a job to do. Your duty was to the people of this castle - to Steve and Nancy and the Party - and you could do them no good hiding and crying in your room.

“Find Nancy,” you said, an odd rush of calm enveloping you. There were two ways this raid could go: you and the others would die, or you wouldn’t. It was that simple, and that ridiculously difficult. “I’m going after the Party.”

“And Steve?” She asked. You pulled your lips into a thin line.

“Isaac and Andrew will protect him. But Nancy’s guard is split between her and the Hargrove castle, and there’s only one on the Party. They’re our priorities,” you said, though the words felt like a betrayal.

Steve was capable of handling himself. He may not be some savant with a sword, but he was good, and he was smart. You had to believe he could hold his own with his guards, Isaac and Andrew, until you could guarantee his safety with your own eyes.

“Get them into the service tunnels,” you said. “The old ones. If I don’t see you before, rendezvous at the waterfall.”

Uncertainty flickered across Robin’s face, and a similar sensation twisted in your gut. You crossed the room and wrapped your roommate - your best friend - in a hug, gripping her tightly. She held on with the same intensity, the unspoken possibility that this might be the last encounter ringing in the air around you.

When you pulled away, you forced yourself to hold her gaze, to memorize the lines of her face; the lopsided smile and the kind but cautious eyes and the resilience etched into the lines of her face. Robin Buckley may be a servant, but she was a warrior, too, and a friend, and a brave, bright soul. You hoped with everything inside you that this wasn’t the last time you got to see the girl who’d become your closest confidant.

“Be careful, yeah?” You asked. Robin’s lips pulled thin, and she nodded.

“I will,” she said. “You too.”

You headed for the door, Robin on your tail, and undid the locks, carefully tugging the door open and making sure the hall was empty before stepping into it.

Robin took your hand and squeezed; you held on until you couldn’t any longer, your destinations in opposite directions. It felt like ripping off something sticky, the loss of contact stinging.

Then it was just you in a castle swarming with enemies; you, protecting six children, on your own.

You didn’t love those odds, but they were all you had.

♛

Luckily, the spare armory - lightly stocked with a handful of extra weapons, placed there in case the guards couldn’t get down to the main room - was open and still contained its inventory. You were hardly a soldier, had only spent a few months training with Steve, but you knew your way around a blade, and couldn’t stomach the thought of moving a step further through the castle without some weapon. The knights wore full suits of armor, metal and chain mail and extensive gear, but you didn’t have the time or the know-how, and settled for the plates, awkwardly tugging it over your head, the metal playing protecting your chest. The pants were too heavy, as were most of the shields, but you managed to find a thin, lightweight shield, slipping a forearm through it.

Next, a sword. This, at least, you were familiar with. You chose a Castillion sword, long and silver, thicker at the base and thinning as it reached its devilishly sharp point.

You felt like a child playing dress-up, the metal clunking as you moved for the door, but it was nowhere near as heavy as the full gear would have been, and the presence of a weapon in your hand alleviated some of the fear choking you.

You stepped out into the hall, feeling like a child wielding a weapon they knew little of, shoved down your fear, and set off in search of the kids.

♛

The invaders hadn’t yet breached the wing of the castle inhabited by the transient guests, meaning the Party was still fast asleep and completely unaware in their beds. Had they not been as familiar with you as they were, rousing them would have been far more difficult. Luckily, none of them questioned you waking them, all assuming it was for some illicit adventure in the dark.

The realization the castle was under attack was all the wake up they needed. The rambunctious group of kids became a stone-faced collection of young royalty, too familiar with tales of ransacking and pillaging to argue or play games.

You led them out into the hall and toward the entrance for the old service tunnels, pushing through dimly lit halls and forcing them past bodies and blood.

“Where are we going?” Mike asked in a low tone, gripping El’s hand like he feared she’d disappear if he let go. The kids walked together in a huddle, bumping and knocking into one another, the proximity a comfort.

“I’m getting you out of here,” you said. “We’re meeting up with Robin and Nancy in the tunnels.”

“What’s going on?” Lucas asked.

“Yeah, who’s attacking us?” Max asked.

“We don’t know.” You turned down another hall, picking over a dead guard - a young man named Elias who’s smile was always kind. “My guess, is the Hargrove’s. They didn’t take the alliance between the Wheeler’s and the Harrington’s well.”

Max sucked in a breath. “Billy,” she breathed.

“What?”

“Billy,” she said. “The King’s son. Back when our parents were talking about an alliance, I spent a lot of time with him. He was so angry when he realized he wasn’t getting a kingdom.”

“So he decides to take one?” Dustin asked, scoffing. “Because that’s how it works.”

“It kind of is, man,” Lucas said.

“It totally is,” added Will.

“We can discuss later,” you said. “For now, we need to move.” The entrance to the old tunnels, the only one still accessible, was across the small garden, tucked into the back of the castle. You hated leaving the safety - however false it was - of walls and ceilings and trading it for open sky, but it was the only way to reach the tunnels.

You led the Party across the grounds quickly and quietly, turning down the grassy path leading to the garden. Ahead, you caught a glimpse of the back of Nancy and Robin’s heads as they ducked through a hedge leading to the doorway. Relief coursed through you, and you picked up the pace, urging the kids on.

You made it halfway to the hedge when a voice called out behind you, tone all venom.

“You there! Stop!” It wasn’t a familiar voice, and that was all you needed to shove the kids forward, like a mother duck forcing her ducklings to run faster.

A knight you’d never seen before jogged toward you, and with every glance over your shoulder, he grew closer. Fear coiled tighter and tighter in your gut, and you slammed to a halt, the kids hesitantly stopping with you, fear written in their expressions.

“Go,” you said. “Catch up to Robin and Nancy.”

“What about you?” El asked, eyes wide. You clenched your teeth and unsheathed your sword, lifting your shield in front of you.

“I’ll cover you.”

“Come with us,” Max pleaded. You gave her what you hoped was a reassuring smile.

“I’ll see you on the other side,” you said. “Now go.” You hardened your tone, sharpening it to a point, leaving no room for argument. “Go.”

The kids did as instructed, though reluctantly, and bolted in the direction Robin and Nancy went, all sneaking glances at you over their shoulders. The moment they took off you turned to face the approaching knight; if he could even be called that. He wore as little armor as you, but his pieces were mismatched, the metal rusty. Still, he wielded his weapon like a pro, and more so, his anger was clear on his face; and anger was either a great advantage or a vast disadvantage. You didn’t know which, yet.

He approached you like a cat would a mouse, and you gripped the hilt of the sword, lifting it and tightening your grip on the heavy shield.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said. The man’s lips curled up in a wicked grin, and he lunged as he spoke, thrusting his own sword and snapping, “But I want to.”

You barely managed to block his hit with your sword, spending the first full minute on defense only, concerned solely with not getting slashed. The man was far more skilled than you, but his anger was making him sloppy, and he was so concerned with offense he wasn’t paying attention to his exposed areas.

You faked a swing, and when he raised his sword to block, you swung low, thrusting straight at the sliver of unprotected skin beneath his metal plating. The sword punctured his skin like a butter knife does butter, and the man let out a soft gasp, lips forming an O as he dropped his gaze to the blade sticking halfway out of his gut.

Panic and nausea clawed their way up your throat, but you used them as fuel, grabbing on and pushing them further into his gut with the blade, a strangled noise popping out of his mouth. Blood dribbled from his lips, and he coughed, spraying your face in red. You resisted the urge to gag and ripped your sword free, the man slumping the moment the blade was gone, hitting the dirt with a thud.

Your heart pounded like a kick drum in your chest, so loud you couldn’t hear anything else, and you surveyed the garden around you. The Party had disappeared, and you had to believe they’d found Nancy and Robin, that all eight of them were headed through the tunnels to the safety of the waterfall beyond the castle.

But Steve was still inside. And as much as you told yourself you didn’t care, as much as you told yourself he wasn’t your problem, your legs carried you back into the castle anyway, slowly and silently picking your way through the growing carnage, avoiding the carrying noises of small battles through the halls.

You found yourself slowing in front of an open door; a room you’d been in just a few days prior. The Queen’s sitting room.

You paused in the doorway, gaze landing on Adelita herself standing in front of the fireplace, two guards in rusty armor leveling swords at her throat. She didn’t look like the powerful Queen who’d commanded you and threatened you; she looked disheveled, afraid. It was an oddly satisfying - and, somewhat shameful - sight.

The two enemy guards didn’t take notice of you, but Adelita flicked her gaze to the door, eyes widening at the sight of you, covered in blood and half-dressed in armor, the tip of your sword dripping red onto the concrete floor. Her lips parted in a silent cry of desperation, an unspoken request.

She wanted your help. The irony of that wasn’t lost on you.

“Your reign is over, your highness,” one of the men said, voice dripping hatred. He shifted forward, blood spilling from a tiny cut on Adelita’s neck. Your grip tightened on your sword, but you didn’t move forward, despite the silent pleading looks Adelita sent your way.

Instead of running in and playing rescue, the way you should have done, you hang back. It was horrible, and selfish, and cruel, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

Maybe a world without Adelita Harrington wasn’t such a bad world. There was enough pain and anger and cruelty here already, and she’d done nothing but make it worse. She’d done nothing but put reputation and prestige above everything else.

Adelita saw the decision in your eyes, expression flooded with fear as she realized she was doomed. After all this time, after so much power and prestige and domination, she was going to die.

Your concern was Steve, not his mother. Not the cruel woman who’d gotten off on separating you, on making her son suffer.

Adelita Harrington would have to figure it out for herself. If there was an escape, she’d have to find it herself.

Unfortunately, she didn’t get the chance. Just as you turned back to the hall, headed after Steve, the men slit Adelita’s throat.

♛

You found Steve’s guards, Isaac and Andrew, nowhere near his room, having chased a handful of invaders away from his quarters. They picked them off easily, and by the time you found them, both boys were blood-covered and injured and exhausted, but alive.

Andrew had an arm wrapped around Isaac, and the two were shouldering their way down the hall, presumably in search of a place to hunker down. From the blood staining their clothes, both were hurt, and badly, though from the looks of it, Isaac had taken the brunt. He winced with every step, Andrew carrying most of his weight, and he had his head tucked against the other boy’s neck. It was an oddly intimate gesture, one that made you realize that you weren’t the only one in the castle with a secret. Everyone inside Castle Veteris had people they were desperate to protect, and even the guards who’d stood watch outside Steve’s room for years were no different.

“Steve,” you breathed, “where is he?”

Andrew met your gaze, blood streaking down one cheek, gasping for breath.

“In his quarters, last we saw,” he said gravely. He flicked a glance at a growing-paler Isaac, then back at you. “I have to get him out of here. I-“

“Go. You know the old service tunnels?”

Andrew frowned, but nodded. “Aren’t they closed off?”

“Not all of them,” you said. “Robin took Nancy Wheeler and the Party in. You can catch them, if you go now.”

Uncertainty flickered across his face; he had a duty to the castle, but it was clear he had a stronger sense of duty attached to the boy in his arms. It was Isaac he was most concerned with.

“Get him somewhere safe,” you said. The words were enough to make Andrew’s mind up, and he nodded again, moving forward with Isaac, slow but steady. He glanced over his shoulder, sending you a grave look and a supportive nod.

“Find the prince,” he said.

And then they were gone, too, and you were alone. You set off in search of Steve, praying with everything you had that there was still something to be found.

♛

By the time you reached the hall leading to Steve’s door, all the torches were doused and it was too dark to see farther than a foot ahead of you. You moved slowly, shield held high, gripping the hilt of your blade like it was a lifeline. A few more yards and you’d reach Steve’s door. A few more yards through the darkness.

Your foot caught on something wet and slippery, and you lost your balance, hitting the stone hard. You landed in liquid, and had to swallow bile when you lifted your hand and saw a thick, dark substance covering your arms: blood. You’d landed in a pool of it - of _someone’s_. Swallowing a scream, you pushed unsteadily to your feet, pushing past the suffocating feeling brought on by the sticky substance covering your clothes and arms.

Steve’s door was open, the room dark, the only source of light the moon streaming in through the open balcony doors. You stepped inside slowly, careful not to slip again, and opened your mouth to call out for Steve, clamping your mouth shut at the sight of two silhouettes across the room. Steve, face washed in moonlight and dotted with blood, expression hard, staring at the man across from him. The other man had his back turned to you, but he looked young, around Steve’s age. He stood tall and tense, holding out a sword.

The boys were too consumed by their conversation to notice your entrance, and you hung back, an invisible observer.

“-long have you been planning this?” Steve asked, voice hard and cold. The other boy laughed, blade wavering.

“You see, my father thought it was insanity, at first. And then, he discovers an alliance has been made. Without him. And all of a sudden, my plan has merit.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, gaze flicking between the blade and the boy’s face.

“All of you, so damn gullible. Not an ounce of suspicion at our urging to send your women home. To gather all your weak and useless in one place, with no protection.”

Anger flared to life inside you. Weak and useless? The castle was at half its guard capacity, and yet, at least seven nobles were certifiably safe in the tunnels. That sounded pretty strong and capable to you.

Horror filled Steve’s eyes, a haunting expression against the bright moonlight. His body was riddled with tension, but not fear; he still believed he could find his way out of this, the cocky bastard. A rush of affection coursed through you, overwhelming and shockingly intense.

He may be a cocky bastard, but he was _your_ cocky bastard. And you weren’t about to lose him.

“You’re a monster, Billy,” Steve said, shaking his head, disdain dripping from his words. The blatant disregard of Billy’s threat irritated him, and he shifted forward, making Steve stiffen. Still, unafraid.

So, Billy Hargrove was taking the castle after all. And at his father’s behest. It had been a plot all along, and the King played right into it.

“No, Harrington,” Billy said, “I’m a King.”

It was at that moment Steve noticed you lurking in the room, slowly inching forward. You couldn’t imagine it was a pretty sight: you, blood-covered and half covered in armor and wielding a knight’s weapons.

One side of his mouth twitched up for a tenth of a second before he smoothed his features and returned his attention to Billy. Billy launched into another dull monologue, but you weren’t listening anymore; in Billy’s self-indulgence, he wasn’t paying attention to Steve. Steve, who met your gaze and jerked a chin to your sword.

You understood instantly. Steve had no weapon and no way to fight back. But you did; you, who Billy had no knowledge of. You, hiding in the darkness, a half-baked wannabe knight. You, all they had.

Billy Hargrove was an expert swordsman, but he couldn’t swing a blade to block one he never saw coming.

“Can we save the rambling? You sound mad, and, if you recall, you woke me out of a lovely dream, and I’m too tired to pretend anything you say is comprehensible,” Steve said, cocking a brow. His confidence infuriated Billy, but before he could react, you lunged, gathering every ounce of strength you could find and channeling it into the hand gripping the sword. You thrust it forward, aiming for his lower back.

_Steve tapped the tip of his blade against yours, lips curling up in an easy grin._

_“You don’t have the experience to waste any time,” he said. “You have to go for the kill shot every time.”_

_You frowned; the thought of killing made your stomach curdle. Steve noticed the hesitation, his expression softening._

_“I wouldn’t tell you this unless I didn’t know it’s the only way. I know you don’t want to hurt anyone, but I promise you, they won’t pull their swings. You can’t afford to, either.”_

_You clenched your teeth and nodded._

_“Okay.” You tightened your grip on the sword. “Okay. Show me.”_

_He grinned again, and let his sword fall to his side, reaching out with a hand to take you by the shoulder and spin you around. He stepped up behind you, breath warm against your ear. His fingers brushed your lower back, tapping against each side._

_“The kidneys,” he said. His hand moved up your back. “The heart.” Your breath hitched, and he leaned closer, lips grazing your earlobe. You knew you should tell him to move away, but you could barely breathe, let alone speak._

_At that moment, you knew it would never be a sword that killed you; it’d be your heart, and this boy._

Billy crumbled, and you moved to stand in front of him, pulling the sword as you moved and leveling it as his throat as he dropped to his knees. His eyes widened in shock, but he didn’t fight back, didn’t do anything but part his lips and spit blood onto your shoes.

He died slowly and without excitement, as he deserved. No fireworks or big explosions or honorable exits. He was just there, and then, he wasn’t.

The sword clattered to the ground and you sucked in a gasp, stumbling back and away from the body. Hands caught you by the shoulders and you screamed, turning to find Steve, calming instantly.

For a moment, you did nothing but stare at him. You didn’t know what the rules were, if they even existed anymore.

Steve made the decision for you, stepping forward and taking the shield from your hand, letting it hit the floor with a loud thump. You eased off the metal plating and tossed it aside, lifting your gaze to meet Steve’s again.

The queen was dead. Most likely, the King, too. All the obstacles standing between you had been doused with the torches, and it took a moment to regain stable footing in a shaken world.

“You saved me,” Steve said. After a beat, his lips quirked up in a lopsided smile that sent flutters through your gut. “Thank you.”

“I couldn’t just let him kill you,” you said. “I would never-I couldn’t…”

His smile faded, some nervous and dreadful weaving itself into his expression.

“You know, that first night, you asked me what I wanted. But I never asked _you_.” His brows furrowed. “What do you want, Y/N?”

You were standing at the edge of a cliff, and the rocks below might be deadly. Or, they might not be rocks at all. Or, maybe you didn’t care. Maybe you didn’t care one little bit.

“You,” you said. “I’ve always just wanted you.” His eyes lit up, and he reached for you at the same time you reached for him. He didn’t seem to care that you were covered in blood, winding his arms around you, and you buried your face in his neck, clinging to him so tightly it probably hurt, but he didn’t complain.

There was a massacre littered throughout the castle, and more messes to clean up than was probably possible, but right then, if only right then, you believed everything might be okay.


	7. bound to each other's hearts

The morning after Billy Hargrove tried - and failed - to take Castle Veteris, the King returned with a handful of guards, gravely injured but still drawing breath. He was taken immediately to his quarters, and Steve followed, as if drawn by a tether connecting him to his father - estranged, and cruel, and harsh, but still his father.

He sat vigil for his father, the physician having done all he could and leaving with a diagnosis of: _it’s God’s choice now_. But after a full day of stillness and sleep from the King, it appeared God - or whoever or whatever it was that decided these things - still couldn’t land on an answer.

His father lay motionless as a statue on the bed, so still, he didn’t seem real. Like the rest of him never returned from the Hargrove’s castle.

The Hargrove’s. Just thinking about them made his head throb in protest. It sent his brain spiraling down a path of bloodshed and anger and guilt and all the things he’d felt upon realizing his castle was being sacked, and being sacked by none other than that bastard Billy Hargrove.

Bastard in the metaphorical sense, at least.

He sat forward in the chair pulled up beside his father’s large canopy bed, taking his pale hand, the skin thin and papery. At his touch, the King opened his eyes, gaze surprisingly clear and sober despite the state of his body. He stiffened, attempted to push to a sitting position, but Steve leaned forward and nudged him back down.

“It’s alright, father,” he said, “It’s alright.”

“Where am I?” His father asked in a gruff tone.

“Veteris,” Steve said. His father’s brow pulled thin, and Steve let out a breath. “It was a trap, this entire time. The Hargrove’s….” He quickly unraveled the tale of deceit for his father, the summarized version of the bloody events. His father’s frown deepened and deepened as Steve spoke, but he didn’t interrupt him.

“Your mother,” he said. Steve’s heart wrenched, images of his mother’s pale silhouette against the rug, blood dried a dark brown against the colorful fibers. He dropped his gaze, pulling his hand from his father’s and straightening, composing himself.

“She didn’t survive the attack,” Steve said.

He’d never been close with his mother, had always thought of her more as a Queen than anything else, but he had a handful of fond memories, mostly from childhood. He knew Adelita Harrington wasn’t horrible through and through, even if she was _mostly_ horrible.

She was his mother, and now, she was gone. Now, Steve didn’t have a mom. He barely had a dad, in the form of this pale and dying man in the bed.

His father’s expression twisted, and his gaze snapped to Steve’s.

“She informed me of your actions,” he said. “Informed me of your betrayal to this castle.”

Whatever sympathy Steve felt for his father went up in smoke, his words a reminder of just the kind of man the King of castle Veteris was. He wasn’t a father, or even a man, but a figurehead. He’d lost whatever humanity he had a long time ago, though whether it was before or after donning a crown, Steve didn’t know.

Anger flared in his gut. How dare he speak to him like this? Steve was no longer the little boy being scolded for sneaking cookies out of the kitchens or knocking over some expensive or ancient decorative piece.

His father was dying in a bed; as far as Steve was concerned, his father was no longer the King. _Steve_ was the king. The realization made his stomach twist, made his chest tighten, made his panic spike, but now wasn’t the time to freak out.

That was the first lesson he’d been taught: nobility keeps their issues behind closed doors.

But that was Adelita and the King’s kingdom. It didn’t have to be Steve’s.

“You won’t speak to me that way,” Steve snapped, voice sharp. “I am effectively King of this castle, and you’ll treat me with respect.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” his father retorted. “You’ll do as I say. You’ll marry Nancy Wheeler, and when the time comes, she will sit beside you on the throne.”

Steve stood, folding his arms across his chest and leveling his father with an even look.

“Actually, I won’t be doing that,” he said. “What I will be doing is marrying who I choose. And I have chosen.”

“I won’t hear anymore-”

“ _You will_ ,” Steve said, his tone making his father falter. “If you get in my way, I will take Y/N with me out of this castle, and I swear to god, you’ll never see me again. You’ll have _no_ heir. Your legacy will die with _you_.” He cocked his brows, waving a hand dismissively. “Or, you can keep your mouth shut, and I’ll _allow_ you to wither away with dignity.”

“ _You_ -”

“This is my kingdom now, father,” he said, and he left no room for further discussion.

♛

You found Steve in his room after sundown, having spent the day fluttering around the castle and assisting in cleaning or healing or calming the frazzled nobility that survived the attack. Of the women who’d returned from the Hargrove castle, two-thirds survived. Luckily, the Party, Robin, and Nancy were unharmed, having made it to the tunnels in time to hunker down and wait for you to go after them.

He’d just gotten out of a bath, wearing only trousers, his hair still dripping as he ducked his head out of the bathroom at the sound of the door. His lips quirked up in a grin, and he loped across the room to you, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you up, spinning you in a circle. A giggle slipped past your lips, and you gripped his shoulders for balance, swatting at him to let you down. He did as asked, but didn’t let go, his arms settling around your waist.

“I thought you’d run away,” he said, tipping his forehead against yours, eyes falling shut. You smile, hands climbing up to find in his wet curls, tugging him closer.

“Just cleaning up messes,” you said. Steve pulled away to look at you.

“You’re quite good at that,” he said. You shrugged.

“It’s my job.”

Something imperceptible flickered across his face, and he disentangled his arms, stepping back and turning away.

“I talked to my father, today,” he said. Your pulse leaped. You’d known the King was back, but hadn’t realized he’d woken from his injury provoked sleep.

“Oh,” you said. “And how did that go?”

He turned halfway toward you, arms folded across his chest, and you forced yourself to focus on the conversation and not his biceps - though, admittedly, they looked _really_ nice.

As if a flip had been switched, he turned to face you, expression twisting.

“You risked your life for me. For the kids, for Nancy, for Robin. You risked your life for this castle that you were forced to work in,” he said. “I don’t know when it happened, but at some point, you became the person I trust the most in this place.”

Your stomach churned, electricity crackling in the air, an unspoken question you couldn’t figure out hanging between you. He was moving toward something, something you couldn’t see, and it was terrifying.

“You could have run,” he said. “But you didn’t. You came back for me. Even after everything.”

“Why are you saying this?” You asked. He met your gaze, lips curling up in a shy and uncertain smile.

“I’m not marrying Nancy Wheeler,” he said. “So, it seems I’m in need of a consort.”

“ _Why are you saying this?_ ” You asked again, heartbeat making it hard to hear him. A lopsided grin replaced the shy one, the usual confidence blooming inside him.

“I’m asking you to stand by me,” he said.

“Like…as a servant? A personal-”

“No,” he said, “like, you wouldn’t be able to call me _your highness_ , anymore.” He tilted his head, waggling his brows, somehow managing to be the strong King and silly boy at the same time. “Because it’d be your title, too.”

Your stomach dropped to the floor, and you lost the feeling in your legs. _Your title too._

“But-but what about-what about the King? There’s no chance-”

“I’m the King now,” Steve said. Any possible reply died on your lips, and your mouth gaped like a fish’s, bobbing open and closed. Too much information in too little time, and your brain was in overdrive.

You strained to order your thoughts, taking a deep breath before meeting Steve’s gaze again.

“Are you sure?” You asked. He stepped toward you, a hand coming up to settle on your cheek.

“Pretty much the only thing I’m sure about right now,” he said, “is you.”

You stared at him, shaking your head.

“I can’t-Steve, I’m a servant. I can’t just…take the throne. Who would ever allow that to happen? The King to share the throne with a servant?”

“You’re not a servant,” Steve said, brows knitting together. “You’re the person who saved the children of this castle, and Princess Wheeler. You saved me. If there is anyone in this kingdom that the people will follow, it’s _you_.”

“But-”

“It’s a simple answer,” Steve interrupted, hope poking through his expression. “Yes, or no?”

You pressed your lips together, but were unable to stop the smile that tugged them up, happiness unfolding in your chest.

“Yes,” you said. “My answer is yes.”

♛

The coronation doubled as a wedding and was pulled together far quicker than you expected. Within weeks, you and Steve’s things were moved into the King and Queen’s quarters, and you were being fitted for new clothing and finding other ways to fill the days now that you had no job. Steve’s father passed away days before the ceremony, but he and Steve had been estranged too long for it to be anything more than relieving.

The ceremony itself was a blur, and you were pretty sure you blacked out for the entire thing, slamming back to reality with a crown on your head and a silver band on your finger.

The throne room was full of people, nobility and servants alike dancing about the room, laughter and music filling the tall ceilings and pushing against the windows.

In the middle of the floor, Robin and Nancy swung each other around, Robin’s head thrown back in laughter, Nancy’s eyes squeezed shut as she spun. The next morning, the pair would be leaving castle Veteris, and they weren’t coming back. You’d given them directions to your village, and sent a letter ahead to your family, asking that they accept your friends, knowing they would.

The next summer, you and Steve planned to travel to see them, once everything settled down at the castle.

They’d be happy there, you hoped - you _knew_. They’d build a life - a happy one. They’d spend their days in the sun and nights beneath warm blankets in a small hut, and they’d never have to worry about royalty again.

The Party danced in a clump near Robin and Nancy, their laughter louder than the rest, all joining hands and spinning around, likely bringing themselves to the point of nausea. Still, they looked happy, carefree, the way children deserved to. Right then, they weren’t nobles, but kids, kids who’d seen too much red in their years, who deserved a little bit of fun.

“That thing looks a little big on you,” Steve said, drawing your attention to him in the throne beside you. You met his gaze, cocking a brow.

“Probably had to make them all big enough to fit your fat head.”

“Is that any way to talk to a King?”

You snorted. “It’s already gone to your head, yeah?”

“Oh, it went to my head _years_ ago.”

You laughed, and Steve’s lips curled up in that smile reserved just for you, soft and sweet and shining. He was almost unbearably handsome, crown glittering atop his head, deep mantle wrapped around his shoulders, an ease to the way he rested in his throne.

“Well, your highness,” he asked, “how does it feel? Regretting it yet?”

You let your gaze trail across the room, thinking of the first time you saw these thrones, with the previous King and Queen on them.

A new regime had settled into place, with a noble and a servant turned warrior turned monarch. No one really knew the rules yet, least of all you or Steve, but that didn’t really matter. You’d figure them out; you’d figure it all out.

“Nope,” you said. You gestured to your own mantle, the soft cloak tucked around you, and shot him a smile. “This is totally my color.”

Steve laughed and leaned against the throne, gaze falling to the partygoers dancing around the ballroom, their smiles and laughter more beautiful than you’d ever thought possible.

“What about you? You know half these royals are going to think you’re absolutely mad for giving a servant a crown.”

“Not even a little bit,” he said. “And you’re not a servant. You’re in charge of this kingdom, now.”

“Hope I don’t fuck it up,” you said. Steve grinned.

“God, I hope I don’t, either.”

“If we fuck it up, we fuck it up together.”

He held a hand out, and you took it, threading your fingers through his, and looked out at your kingdom, happy and dancing and laughing as if the massacre of a month prior had never occurred.

“Together,” Steve said, squeezing your hand.

_Together_. The way you were always meant to be. So, you’d gotten a little lost on the way, but you made it here, made it to _him_. You’d fought for this life, and now, you got to live it.


End file.
